


After all, I am your Doctor (happier ending)

by Honey_Dewey



Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Injury, Surgery, The reader gets hurt, Violence, body modification?, but also fluff this time, gender neutral reader, lots of blood, mentions of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Dewey/pseuds/Honey_Dewey
Summary: You get hurt on an adventure with the Doctor and she does her best to make sure you live, even if it means going to extremes.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Reader
Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733278
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	After all, I am your Doctor (happier ending)

**Author's Note:**

> YES THIS IS BASICALLY THE SAME STORY AS YESTERDAY 
> 
> The first half is exactly the same, so if you read the sad ending, you can skim the beginning. However, this is the lighter, no one ends up dead, a bit happy ending
> 
> Trigger warning: this story deals with descriptions of surgery, blood, and mentions of vomiting, weight loss, and sickness. If you are in any way affected by those things, please read carefully, or do consider not reading at all. As much as I’d like you to read my story, I care about your emotional and mental safety and well-being more.

Traveling with the Doctor was always risky. She had told you that on day one. The universe was dangerous. There would be explosions and death and tragedy. 

“It’s like I’m a disaster magnet!” She had decided one night. “I’m just glad no one had gotten too hurt.” 

You had smiled and laughed at that time, but now, staring up at the sky, you had to wonder just how many people she had lost for her to say that. How many of her companions had gotten hurt before you. 

“Yaz! (Y/N)!” You could hear her yelling in the distance, her voice high and desperate. “Ryan, check that way! Graham, get the med bay ready! They’re gonna need it when we find them.” 

Feet crunched across the ashen landscape, growing closer. Ryan’s voice drifted closer as you waited, watching the sky dim as the triple suns set above you. It was almost peaceful. Or at least, it would’ve been had you not recently been stabbed. The knife still half embedded in your stomach really did put a damper on the gorgeous sunset. 

“Oh god,” Ryan breathed, seeing you, laying limp amongst the rubble, covered in your own blood. “Oh no.” 

He was incredibly cautious, the entire time just thinking about how to get you back. How exactly he was going to safely carry you with the dyspraxia. What he would say to the Doctor if he had to deliver a corpse. 

Of course, seeing your eyes, open and searching, gave him a tiny bit of hope. You were strong. You’d faced off against plenty of terrible bad guys. You couldn’t succumb to something as simple as being stabbed. 

Getting you to the Doctor was a task. One that Ryan carried out silently. You didn’t say anything as he lifted you, only lazily watched the suns set with rapidly closing eyes. With every blink, it was harder for you to see. More of an effort to open your eyes and watch as the blue box grew steadily closer. 

“Hey Doc!” Graham yelled from his spot in the doorway. “Doc! We found (Y/N)!” 

The Doctor came rushing out from where she’d been bandaging Yaz’s busted knees. “Where? Are they hurt?” 

Ryan wordlessly held you out, and you shakily reached a hand towards the blonde. “Hey Doc.” 

Immediately, the Doctor relived Ryan of your weight, scooping you delicately into her arms and placing you on a stretcher. “Keep your eyes open (Y/N)! Please, eyes open.” 

You coughed, watching the Doctor with blurring vision as she began pushing the stretcher through the halls of the TARDIS. She seemed frantic, almost distracted as she ran, her boots making heavy noises against the metal. 

It was a definite struggle to keep your eyes open. You focused them on anything you could. The passing hexagons on the walls, the suspender strap slipping off the Doctor’s left shoulder, the swing of her blonde hair as she rounded a corner, the way she seemed to glow under the white med bay lights. She was shouting something, and there was Yaz, at her side, talking back. But you couldn’t hear. Couldn’t really see as Yaz began running around, gathering materials on a silver tray. Couldn’t really feel as Ryan lifted you off the stretcher and onto a surgical bed. 

The Doctor appeared again, wearing something you’d never seen her in before. TARDIS blue nurse’s scrubs and black rubber gloves. Her hair was pulled up, revealing her glimmering earring. 

“Stay with us!” She yelled, and you nodded. 

“Will do,” you coughed, feeling blood pass your lips. “Just for you.” 

“(F/N),” the Doctor said, glancing at the knife in your skin. “Do you trust me?” 

You smiled, trying you hardest not to mangle your words. “With my life.” 

That was basically where you slipped out, you having passed out completely as the Doctor gave you a sedative. 

“Doctor,” Yaz breathed, passing the Doctor a heart monitor and watching her frantically stick the pads to your ash crusted skin. “What do you need Doctor?” 

“Gauze,” The Doctor began examining the stab wound as she popped a few IV lines into your veins, trying desperately to bring a proper amount of blood back to your body. “Scratch that, scalpel, and the stuff in that drawer there.” 

Yaz did as told, wincing as the Doctor pulled the knife out carefully and began to cut deeper into your side. “Tell Ryan and Graham to prep a room, and then come back and start washing them up,” The Doctor looked up, eyes full of worry. “Please.” 

When Yaz got back, a bowl of warm water and a few wash cloths with her, and saw the Doctor, all bloodied hands and laser focus as she pulled a light down and groaned her discontent, she sighed. If she didn’t do something, the Doctor was going to be fretting over you for ages. 

“They’ll be fine,” Yaz promised softly. “You know (Y/N), I bet they’ll be up and about by the weekend. Always a fighter, this one,” she mused as she began gently wiping your skin clean. 

The Doctor looked up, face a mask of worry. “This is bad,” she whispered. “Very very bad. Roll that tray over.” 

Yaz gave the tray a push with her foot, sending it wheeling towards the Doctor. She stopped it and took a deep breath. “Ready?”

There was no time to ask what for before the Doctor carefully pulled out a mangled, blood covered pink mass, letting it fall onto the tray before turning back to the hole in your side. 

“What,” Yaz paused. “What is that?” 

The Doctor shushed her, grabbing a few various things and finally, after what must’ve been an eternity, leaned back and began to stitch you up. She carefully maneuvered around the plastic piece she’d put in your skin. “That was the lower half of (F/N)’s stomach. I had to remove it. Technically called a gastrectomy. In simple terms, I pulled the damaged lower half out, stitched it all up nice and neat, and put the end of this feeding tube in at the beginning of the small intestine. If I had the time, and (F/N) hadn’t been critical, I could’ve done the surgery properly and connected the intestine to the remainder of the stomach, but this’ll do just fine. I’ll haveta run an NG tube down through their nose into the remainder of the stomach later, but for right now,” the Doctor stood up and stepped back, looking over her work. “I think they deserve a rest,” she turned to Yaz with an exhaustedly triumph look on her face. “See, told you I was a real doctor.” 

The minor injuries were patched up with little difficulty, and the Doctor carefully kicked the brakes off the surgical bed so she could wheel you right across the hall, where Graham and Ryan were waiting just outside a door. 

“All set up in there Doc,” Graham said. “How’s (F/N)?” 

“Should be right as rain soon,” The Doctor promised. She maneuvered you into the center of the room, putting the brakes on the bed again. “Pass me that IV stand, will you?” 

Ryan passed the metal stand over, and the Doctor began to hang nearby blood bags and IV bags, each one labeled in messy Gallifreyan. She hummed to herself as she worked, expertly and carefully finding the proper vein and getting you all set up for recovery. 

“You be kind to my (F/N) now, you hear?” The Doctor said to her ship as she finished up. “No funny business, no moving them around, or I swear I’ll chuck your stabilizers into a supernova again.” 

She hummed, pulling her gloves off and chucking them into a trashcan. “Alright. Tubes, then a nap, I think.” 

She went across the hall, rummaging through a cupboard for the tubes she needed, finding and dropping them in your room. 

The Doctor eventually, finally, settled down in her own bedroom, a room seldom used considering how often she just slumped over the console and power napped instead of actually getting proper sleep. But now, she welcomed the sunken circular bed in the center of the room, welcomed the weighted sheets and the moving galaxy painted above her head as she pulled the covers to her chin and fell asleep instantly. 

When she woke up, it was to Yaz, knocking and grumbling something about food. 

“You look a mess,” Yaz said when the Doctor opened the door, tossing her coat on overtop whatever she’d been wearing. “Although that color suits you.” 

The Doctor looked down. She’d barely managed to kick her shoes off before she’d slept, so she was left in slouched mismatched socks, one black and white sock and one bright green sock. Aside from that, she’d actually somehow fallen asleep in her bloody scrubs, her hair still up. Now, she tugged the hair tie out, letting her hair fall back into its usual mess. The scrubs she left on, not even caring. She was so tired. 

“C’mon,” Yaz murmured. “Graham made tea.” 

“Amazing,” The Doctor said, following Yaz to the kitchen. “I am starving, and exhausted. I didn’t even know I could get exhausted, that’s weird. I mean, I’ve been tired before, but never this tired. I could sleep for days, and I’m not even exaggerating. Least I don’t think I am.” 

Yaz nodded, opening the kitchen door. “We can take it easy today,” she promised. “I wonder if the TARDIS has movies.” 

Ryan looked up. “Oh yeah,” he said, passing Yaz her favorite mug. “Or we could go swimming in the library pool.” 

“The library has a pool again?” The Doctor said happily. “It hasn’t had a pool since I was a man. And not the Scottish one, the one before that! He was weird. All giraffe-like.” 

Graham laughed, passing the Doctor a plate piled high with custard creams. “Yeah well, you should probably bathe today as well.” 

The Doctor groaned, but agreed. With all the sweat and grime from their last adventure, she could probably do with a good scrub down. “Fine,” she groaned, realizing she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t really care. 

Hours later, after her reluctant shower and three consecutive loads of laundry, she sat in your room, a book in hand. She had borrowed clothes from the TARDIS wardrobe, just the first set of pyjamas she’d found. Of course, that put her in soft red pjs with white polka dots, but at least they were cute, even if the button up top had short sleeves and left her a bit chilly, and the pants were too long, leaving her bare feet buried in the fabric when she stood. 

The Doctor had tried her best to make your room more homey, considering how long you’d be stuck here. She’d hung rainbow Christmas lights all around, and stacked a few of your favorite books on a wayward desk she’d found. Your stuffed bear had been brought into the room, tucked under your arm and watching over you with glassy brown eyes. But nothing could cover up the IV stands, or the monitors beeping and measuring, or the O2 tanks that were keeping you alive. No matter what she did, you still looked sick. 

“Hey Doc,” Graham knocked on the door. “You good in here?” 

“Peachy!” The Doctor snapped her book shut. “(F/N)’s doing well too. Heart holding steady, and I put the NG tube in. They’ll be 100% as soon as they wake up. Maybe a bit wonky because of the food shift, but nothing we can’t muscle through.” 

Graham sat down, looking around. “Tell me about it,” he requested softly. “The tubes, I mean. I had a buddy who had stomach cancer, and he had the tubes, but I never really understood, y’know?” 

The Doctor began to ramble, going on about how because she’d pulled the part of your stomach that connected to your intestines out, she had to put a tube in so you could still get nutrients and stuff through injections into the tube. But the tube through your nose that followed the curve of your right cheekbone, that was for draining your stomach in case you did eat anything. 

“They’ll be okay,” Graham promised, noticing how she kept glancing to you. “You know them. They’ll pull through.” 

“Yeah,” The Doctor sighed. “Still hurts, seein’em like this.” 

Graham nodded, putting a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “C’mon Doc, let’s go get something to drink. (F/N) is gonna be right here when we get back, I promise.” 

It took a week and a half. 11 days of waiting and hoping by your side. After a few brief adventures to extremely tame planets, the fam went home, leaving the Doctor to sit in deep space. Despite the size of the ship, she could reliably be found in one of two places. She was either at your bedside and reading to you, or throwing herself into work on the TARDIS. She’d parked in a surprisingly convenient place, considering she hadn’t been focused when she’d taken off. She was a few miles west of Resus One, and she’d already considered calling the station to see how Mabli was doing. In the end, she decided against it. If Mabli was still employed there, she was likely to be working. And the Doctor wasn’t about to interrupt her. 

Finally, one night, just as she’d been getting ready to sleep, the TARDIS gave a few beeps of various pitches, circular gallifreyan lighting up on the walls. You were in the process of waking up. 

The Doctor didn’t bother with her scrubs, which had accidentally just sat in the wash since she’d worn them last, and instead she just tossed her coat over her shoulders as she hurried towards the med bay. 

She expected many things when she pushed your door open. She hoped you’d still be asleep, she knew you’d be in pain, she thought you’d be scared or crying or something like that. But she couldn’t have ever expected you’d be sitting up, a book in hand. 

“Good morning,” the Doctor said slowly, suddenly feeling over the moon that she could actually see your eyes open and shining. “You seem well.” She began to check the machines that had been tasked with keeping you alive. The tube down your throat was carefully pulled out, leaving you coughing but otherwise completely fine. The Doctor insisted on threading a thin oxygen tube under your nose anyway, despite your protests that you were okay. 

“So,” you finally said, once the playful bickering had passed. “Talk to me Doc, what’s going on with me? Last thing I remember, you were looking really good in actual doctor’s clothes and asking me if I trusted you. What happened after that?” 

The Doctor sat on a wayward stool, kicking her feet slightly. “Want the long version or the short version?” 

You shrugged, fingers dancing over your right cheek. “Is there a nice medium ground?” 

So the Doctor began talking. She glossed over the actual surgical explanation, noting how you looked a bit sick when she began talking medical, but she explained in great detail the feeding tube and NG tube, and how it would all help you function without half your stomach. 

“Really, I should fly you into Resus One and have them look you over,” she mused at the end of what had turned into a ten minute speech. “But unless you suddenly keel over or something, I’m going to assume you don’t need any more immediate medical attention.” 

You smiled, clutching your stomach as you did so. “Ow, oh that actually does hurt. Fuck.” 

The Doctor looked over. “What’s wrong?” 

“Ah,” you pointed to your side. “Here, right here.” 

After a quick scan with the sonic, the Doctor began fiddling with the only remaining IV line. “Just adjusting your pain medication,” she murmured. “You’re awake now, so I upped it a tad to keep you comfy while your stitches heal.” 

Once she had finished there, she began to ask questions. Simple ones, mostly to gauge your current health state. You were feeling fine, a bit hungry, and your legs felt odd from the lack of use. 

“C’mon then,” the Doctor said, gesturing you up. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

You used your IV pole as support pretty much the entire time. One arm was linked with the Doctor’s, but you refused to lean too heavily on her. Even when she insisted she could handle it. 

“Bit of a stop,” she said softly, pushing a door open. “Call it a resting point if you will.” 

You marveled at the room, barely hearing what she said. It was circular, with a wardrobe and desk up against one side of the room, and a small work station on the other. In the center, separated from the work area by wooden room dividers carved with beautiful golden gallifreyan, was a decently big circular bed. The bed was peculiar though. All the beds in the rest of the TARDIS were off the ground on a bed frame, but this one was simply sunken into the wood, the surface of mattress itself only a few inches higher than the floor. It had a collection of pillows in a myriad of colors, and beautiful TARDIS blue blankets.

“Oops,” the Doctor sighed, helping you sit on a chair. “I always leave this room in a complete mess, sorry about that. Didn’t think she’d bring us here though, if I’m being honest.” 

“Is this your room?” You asked, putting a hand against the wall. 

The Doctor shrugged. “Kinda?” She said. “I never really use it.” 

You two sat in the room in vague silence for a few minutes, allowing you to catch your breath and regain your strength. 

“So,” you finally said, gazing up at the ceiling. “All of time and space, and I managed to be stabbed.” 

“By another human. On an alien planet no less, and you still got hurt by another human!” The Doctor said, throwing her hands up. “I don’t think I’ve lost a companion to a human in, oh I can’t even count. A thousand years? Maybe a bit more.” 

“Tell me about it,” you leaned towards her, resting your head on her shoulder. “Tell me all about your years.” 

The Doctor hesitated. “Are you sure? They’re a bit horrific.” 

You hummed, letting the vibration ring through your chest. “I’m positive.” 

“Well,” The Doctor leaned her head against yours. “I’ll start about twelve hundred years ago. I had just regenerated, and discovered that Autons had taken over London. So there was this girl, Rose.” 

She rambled for hours, going on and on about her lives and how odd they were. Eventually, you tugged on her sleeve, interrupting a tangent about her eyebrows. 

“I’m hungry,” you grumbled. “Can we get something to eat?” 

The Doctor nodded, helping you up and leading you down the halls into the kitchen. She busied herself with two mugs while you sat at the table, watching her work. It was very different from her usual bouncing around when she piloted. Now, she hummed and swayed, but didn’t jump or tilt as she made two cups of hot chocolate. 

“Drink as much as you can,” she said softly, setting your mug in front of you. “I’ll get your actual dinner ready.” 

You drank, allowing the sugary drink to warm you from the core out as the Doctor rummaged through the cabinets again. 

“Watch me,” she instructed, setting an armful of things on the table. “This is how you’re gonna feed yourself, so pay attention, please.” 

“Mhm,” you took another sip, paying attention the whole time as the Doctor crushed up a few pills and mixed them and a weird brown powder into a pre-measured amount of water. 

“All the TARDIS water is sterile,” she explained as she stirred the pills in. “But on Earth, you’ll have to order it. I can tell you what to get when we get back.” 

She carefully put the mixture into a massive syringe, holding it out. “Ta-da! Dinner!”

You stared at it. “Now what?” 

“Oh!” The Doctor stood, gesturing to your stomach. “May I?” 

She grabbed a long tube while you lifted your shirt, exposing the feeding tube for the first time. You paused as she knelt down, fiddling with the stopper on your stomach. She screwed the long tube into your stomach, popping the end of the syringe onto the other end of the tube. “Ready?” 

You nodded, watching as the Doctor carefully and slowly injected the nutrient mix into you.

“See,” she murmured as she finished, unscrewing the long tube and putting the cap back on your feeding tube. “That wasn’t so bad.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, not so bad.” 

It was an uphill battle from there. You were on the TARDIS for another two weeks in recovery. And amidst the vomiting, the sudden and rapid weight loss, and the fainting, you somehow found time to sit in the TARDIS doorway and look out into the cosmos. 

“Should we get to bed?” The Doctor suggested, tossing her apron off and joining you in the doorway. “You look tired.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Bedtime. Can I make a request?” 

“Anything,” the Doctor said as she helped you to your feet. 

You smiled. “Can I sleep in your room?” 

The Doctor steered you down the hall, nodding as she pushed her room open. “Of course. But don’t make it a habit, or else I might have to smother you with my blankets.” 

She helped you get changed into pyjamas, and she carefully assisted as you drained the soup broth you’d had for dinner out of your stomach. It was a slow process, your recovery, but you were making lots of progress. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said, slipping the covers around you. “Anything else before I pop off and finish the repairs?” 

“Stay?” Your eyes were already half closed as you breathed out your request. “Please?” 

The Doctor sat cross legged beside the bed, taking her coat and shoes off before crawling under the covers with you. It was warm, a nice cocoon of comfort. You cuddled up to her chest, breathing evening out as you slipped to sleep. 

“Goodnight,” the Doctor said softly, kissing the top of your head. Your hair glittered gold as she blessed your dreams, the same shimmer burning off her lips as she too fell to the graceful arms of nighttime. 

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜


End file.
